Irish
by padfoot's prose
Summary: (To) make it Irish - To add alcohol to a beverage, i.e. coffee or soda; as in "Dude this frink aint dat nice"/"Dude lets make it irish" (Urban Dictionary)


**A/N: I decided to play the Genie Game on HPFC, and try granting wishes for the night. This is for Munchkinsrus, who said, "I wish for a regular day for the marauders in sixth year at Hogwarts."**

 **I hope this delivers.**

* * *

 **Irish**

 **by padfoot**

(To) make it Irish - To add alcohol to a beverage, i.e. coffee or soda; as in _Dude this frink aint dat nice/Dude lets make it irish._ (Urban Dictionary)

...

"Do you want me to make that pumpkin juice a little more… Irish?"

James shoved the bench away from the breakfast table with a scream, toppling over backwards just in time to avoid the shards of exploding goblet and burnt pumpkin juice. On the other side of the Gryffindor table, Sirius was roaring with laughter, his robes covered in brown and orange flecks, his wand still pointing at the place where James' drink had, seconds ago, been sitting.

"For the sake of all that is good in this world, Padfoot- WHY?! What did my pumpkin juice ever do to you?"

Sirius shrugged, shaking the sleeve of his robes as he lowered himself back down onto his bench. There was a long streak of bright orange juice stretching diagonally down his face. It began to drip, and he licked it off his lips.

"It was looking at me funny," he replied, still grinning wolfishly.

Peter, who in a stroke of random luck had fallen forwards off his seat when James had shoved the bench backwards, peeked out from under the table. Sirius smiled at the two beady eyes that stared across at him.

"Make sure _you_ don't go looking funny at me now, Wormtail," he waved his wand in a faux-threat, "If you do, I might have to make you Irish, too."

Peter shot a nervous glance at James, who was finally pulling himself up off the floor, straightening his glasses and untangling himself from his robes.

"He's kidding, Pete," James said, then turned to glare at Sirius, "At least, he is if he knows what's good for him."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at the challenge. James opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by the entrance of Remus.

"Put that thing away," Remus snapped, sparing only a cursory – but pointed – glance at Sirius' wand before taking a seat beside him.

When Sirius hesitated, Remus fixed him with a look. Wordlessly and with uncanny haste, Sirius relented. Remus stared at him for a second longer and then turned away, his gaze moving down to the scarred surface of the table. He lifted his arms up to rest his elbows in front of him, and roughly rubbed his eyes.

"Bad night?" Peter asked, having returned to his spot on the bench, his tone low and full of concern.

Remus didn't make any response, but that in itself was enough.

The four boys stayed silent for a long moment.

James nudged at his plate, searching for a section of his scrambled eggs that wasn't covered in burnt pumpkin juice. A small group of third year girls side-eyed his ruined breakfast before sitting down nearby, turning away to whisper amongst themselves. Peter picked at a splinter in the table's edge, shuffling over when two fifth year boys squeezed onto the bench beside him. Sirius licked at his lips a little more, trying to reach the streak of juice on his face, clearly unaware of how extensive the mess was. A Ravenclaw girl caught his eye from across the Great Hall and winked at him. He grinned back, but dropped the smile instantly when Marlene McKinnon walked by and made gagging gesture.

Finally Remus' hands dropped away from his face, landing on the table with a _thump_. Everyone in the vicinity jumped, then quickly pretended that they hadn't, and went back to their own conversations. Sirius stopped trying to stretch his tongue up to his cheek and turned to look at his friend.

"Why in Merlin's name is there glass embedded in that ham?" Remus asked.

The three other boys followed Remus' gaze. He was right. A large triangular shard of goblet glass was extruding from the leg of ham in the middle of the table.

"It was looking at Padfoot funny," James explained dryly, his tone a clear indication that his friend had not been forgiven.

Remus sighed and fixed another look on Sirius.

"What is with this sudden obsession with making everything Irish?"

James released his second wild scream of the day as the bench was shoved back and everyone ducked for cover. The third year girls were cowering behind a breakfast plate that one had managed to grab before diving under the table, and the two fifth year boys were piled together on the floor, desperately trying to use each other's bodies as shields. Peter had toppled beneath the table again, and James, only just managing to stay seated by clutching onto the bench, was glaring daggers at Sirius.

Sirius and Remus, the only two people within a five-foot radius who hadn't moved, looked back at him, the latter gaping just a little.

Sirius leaned over to stage-whisper in Remus' ear, "The people don't like it when I make things Irish."

A visible flinch went through the watching crowd at the last word, and one of the third year girls let out a brief shriek before her friend clapped a hand over her mouth.

Remus' cheeks were a little bit red, and his expression something approaching a smile as he replied mildly, "I've noticed."

…

James was very definitely dragging his feet as he entered the Gryffindor Quidditch change rooms. Georgiana, the team captain, noticed immediately, pinning him with her sharp gaze as he dropped his rucksack onto the floor.

"Where's your energy, James?" she asked, "We can't have you playing out there if you're like that."

"I'll get energetic, I promise," he muttered, "As soon as I stop feeling like I'm going to jump out of my skin every time someone so much as _thinks_ the word-"

"Don't say it!"

The cry came from three different corners of the change room, and James raised his hands in surrender, firmly closing his mouth.

Georgiana frowned, crossed her arms, and swiftly turned back to her blackboard, which was covered in complex chalk diagrams, names and arrows zigzagging everywhere. Her long ponytail whipped through the air, inches from the face of her trusty vice-captain, Valencia, who dodged out of the way just in time, so used was she to avoiding the danger. They bent their heads together to keep talking strategy in low voices, ignoring the way the rest of team was still eyeing James suspiciously.

"It's not even me who keeps making things Irish," James murmured under his breath, "…bloody Padfoot."

He glared moodily at anyone who scuttled past him as he changed his robes, giving the rest of the team yet another reason to keep their distance.

Eventually, Georgiana called for attention, and the team shuffled in to huddle around her, Valencia, and the blackboard. People were still eyeing James warily, but Valencia growled at the signs of disunity and quickly the team fell silent.

"This is going to be a tough game," Georgiana said, "Hufflepuff has a very strong team this year, and there's more than one good reason why they're leading the competition – not the least of them Harrison Moore, who is the best Keeper this school has seen in a century."

There were some mutters at this, but Valencia silenced them again with snarl.

"So what's our game plan?" Georgiana gestured at the chalkboard, as if its mess of scrawls would explain everything.

James stared blankly at it, along with the rest of team. They waited for some explanation. None came.

"We don't have a game plan," Valencia eventually said. "We're going to be out-paced, out-played, and out-manoeuvred."

Georgiana winced, but reluctantly nodded.

"Val is right," she said, "In all honesty, there's no reason to think we can win this."

"Well, this is uplifting," one of the Chasers sarcastically muttered.

James couldn't help but agree, and the rest of team started muttering too.

"But," Valencia interrupted, her tone demanding silence, "We have one secret weapon that Hufflepuff don't have."

She looked at Georgiana. Georgiana looked at the chalkboard. Then she turned and fixed her gaze on James.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, Potter, your juvenile prank might just win us this match."

"It's not my prank," James insisted, "Padfoot is the prat who came up with it."

"Well then Padfoot might just win us this match," Georgiana amended. And she proceeded to tell them her plan.

…

It was not the proudest victory that James had ever earned. If he'd been captain – he couldn't help but think – he would have played it differently. A little less immaturity and fewer foolish tactics, and a little more honour and class. But the unfortunate truth was that honour and class did not always bring around victory. And victory was what mattered.

The team were met as they exited the change rooms by a mob of cheering Gryffindors. Georgiana was instantly pulled into the arms of about fifty people at once, and as James followed the rest of the team out, he even got a few ruffles of his hair, pats on the shoulder, and "well done, mate"s. But he felt uncomfortable with even those small congratulations, and made it clear enough that soon people stopped approaching him, letting him make his own lonely way back to the castle. He went the long way, behind the greenhouses, and was frowning as he went.

"For someone who just beat the best Quidditich team Hogwarts has seen since the lethal Slytherin squad of 1912, you don't seem very upbeat."

James looked up at the voice, raising his eyebrows as Lily Evans stepped out of one of the greenhouses, closing the door carefully behind her and tapping it with her wand to secure the lock.

"Were you just breaking into there?" James asked, forgetting the match for a second, genuinely aghast.

"Of course not," Lily replied, "I'm doing a project for some extra credit. Professor Bidopsis agreed to let me make up for the essay I wrote on Laughing Daisies back in March. It was awful."

"Right."

James nodded stiffly and, after another moment's pause, kept on walking, still heading for the castle. Lily fell into step beside him. She didn't say anything, but he could feel her staring at him. It made him squirm. He wasn't at all in the mood to charm her with the snappy, smooth, suave things he usually said when they talked.

"How do you know about the Slytherin squad of 1912?" he finally asked, when they were clear of greenhouses, mostly just to fill the silence.

Lily shrugged, "Oh, I overheard someone talking about it a while back. I've been waiting for a chance to bring it up and shock you with my vast knowledge of Quidditch."

"Huh."

"You don't seem very shocked."

James shook his head as if trying to get water out of his ear. "I'm just a bit… out of sorts," he said. "Usually I'd be highly shocked, I swear."

Nodding, Lily looked away again, focusing her gaze on the castle as it loomed ever closer. The last of the Gryffindor crowd were still trickling in through the doors, their red and gold jersey's bright against the black. From the distance, they seemed particularly merry and upbeat – a stark contrast to James' brooding silence.

"You did win, right?" Lily asked. "I mean, you're not all-" she broke off, searching for a word, then settled for a general gesture in James' direction "-because you lost?"

"No, we did win," James answered, then, with a quizzical look, "You didn't watch the game?"

Lily shook her head.

"I was there to start with. But then you flew over your friends in the stands, and – I don't know if it was by accident or not – but suddenly none of the Hufflepuff players wanted to be near you. I think it might've been to do with that ridiculous 'Irish' prank you've been pulling on everyone, and I just thought that was a little unfair-"

"It's not my prank!" James interjected, his tone defensive, and Lily stopped talking abruptly. He softened his tone a little as he went on, "I just mean, it wasn't _my_ idea to do that. Georgiana and Valencia came up with it. They knew it would make people back off, so I could get the Quaffle away from everyone, and at least I'd have a fair chance against Moore. You know we couldn't have won if I hadn't done it."

"I left," Lily pointed out, "I didn't know that you could've won either way." She paused, and then added, "Still, it was a bit of dirty trick."

"I know."

Lily looked hard at James for a moment, trying to read his expression. His eyes were still downcast, and his face was in shadow now as they went through the doors of the castle. But she could see something odd in his expression and it made her own eyes narrow.

"You don't feel bad about winning, do you?" she asked, with more than a little disbelief.

James didn't answer.

They were on the stairs now, and he was a couple of steps ahead of her, avoiding her eyes.

Lily stopped where she was as the realisation suddenly hit her. James' pace quickened.

"You don't feel bad about winning at all!" she told his now-rapidly retreating back, positive that he could still hear her, "You feel bad because it wasn't _your_ prank that helped you win!"

The back of James' neck was turning bright red.

Lily laughed out loud, rolling her eyes at her own brief moment of madness. She had actually, for a real, honest few seconds thought that James Potter was ashamed about cheating. He was out of sight by then, and beyond the reach of any further mocking. But the thought of James' comically grumpy silence kept Lily smiling all the way back to the Common Room.

…

"I don't want to take full responsibility for the victory," Sirius was saying to a group of simpering fourth year girls, "But I think it's fair to say that without my brilliance, my dedication to the sport, and to the building of this frankly genius prank, we wouldn't have won that match."

"You are _so_ right," one of the girls said.

Her friends nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Sitting by the window on the other side of Common Room, Remus rolled his eyes at the sight. Lily chuckled, shaking her head in amusement.

"They're both morons," Remus told her, recommencing their conversation. "Padfoot for doing this stupid prank in the first place, and Prongs for being jealous that he didn't think of it first."

"You're so right!" Lily laughed, "That's exactly what James was – jealous! He was jealous that his best mate's prank has the whole school scared enough that we can win a Quidditch match out of it. As if he hasn't won us ten times as many Quidditch match using actual skill!"

"Don't let him hear you say that," Remus warned her, "It might actually be enough to cheer him up."

"Oh, and we wouldn't want that," Lily agreed, "I think it'll be good for him to wallow in his misery for a while. It's character building."

Remus smiled at her, shaking his head a little, "You really don't like him, do you?"

"It's not that I don't like him," Lily replied, "It's just that I think he deserves a little misery now and then. It's not like he doesn't have it coming. An eye for an eye, and all that."

"Yes, but it seems like you get a little bit too much satisfaction out of watching him suffer."

"Can you blame me?"

They stared at each other a long moment, Lily with her eyebrows raised, as Remus thought back on all the horrible pranks and dares that Lily had been an unwitting (or entirely witting) victim of over the past five and a half years.

"No, you're right," he said, "Prongs deserves every misery."

They both laughed, light-hearted and carefree, comfortable in their corner of the Common Room as the victory party went on around them.

"-and I'm not saying that I could have foreseen such greatness from the beginning," Sirius went on, still addressing his adoring fans, "but when you come up with a prank like this, you do sometimes get a sense – a sort of premonition, if you will – that it's going to be something truly wonderful. And I wasn't wrong with this one. It's just such an honour to see my little brainchild making such a positive contribution to the world. I mean, it's hard to think that maybe, one day, anyone anywhere in the world will be able to shout the word 'Irish'-"

As one, every occupant of the Common Room threw themselves to the floor. The armchair that Valencia and Georgiana were seated on was overturned, dumping its occupants unceremoniously onto the carpet, and a small table laden with party food was thrown into the fireplace in the chaos. In the dead silence of the room, the fire's hungry crackling sounded ominously magnified.

Then, simultaneously three things happened.

Remus peered at Sirius from over the armchair behind which he and Lily had taken shelter. The portrait hole opened and James stepped inside. And Sirius saw James arrive, take in the state of the room, and reach for his wand.

The only sound of warning that anyone had was Remus' broken-off cry, before the fireplace exploded.

Lily threw her arms up over her head, huddling into Remus' side as ash, charcoal, burnt remnants of party food, and chipped-off pieces of stone hurtled like missiles through the Common Room. Its cowering occupants let out screams of genuine terror and perplexing delight as the debris rained down on them. Slowly, the dust began to clear, and people peeped out from behind their hiding places to survey the damage.

James was still just inside the portrait hole, the lone person standing amidst the destruction. He pocketed his wand and announced with a shrug and a crooked grin, "I thought this party needed to be a little more… Irish."

An almighty cheer arose from the crowd, and everyone was suddenly on their feet, swarming towards their Quidditch hero.

Lily gaped – genuinely, truly wordless. Remus sighed and raised a hand to his head, ruffling his hair to dislodge the debris that had settled in there. And across the room, suddenly abandoned by his fans, Sirius stood, his expression malignant, as he too pocketed his wand.


End file.
